Читать книгу Electric Blue - Nancy Bush - Страница 7

I was prepared for anything, given the buildup I’d received. A woman anywhere between Medusa and Mother Teresa. Okay, maybe that was stretching it a bit, but I figured she could be a grim, hard-bitten monster with a whip hand, or a dotty old lamb in search of love and assurance.

In actuality Orchid Candlestone Purcell was, well, a disappointment. She was so middle-of-the-road that after my initial meeting, I was hard pressed to remember much about her appearance beyond the basics: hair, eye color, body size. Her behavior was more memorable, but that was only because she reminded me of my grandmother.

Her hair was iron gray turning to white. It still had a fullness to it; no cottony fluff. It was clear she went to a hairdresser steeped in the art of spray till it hurts. The concoction moved with her head in a way that reminded me of a jockey’s cap. It stuck out in the front a little, too, as if it had a bill. Give her some silks and she’d be away to the races.

Her eyes were Jazz’s electric blue. A little bit starey. Her skin was soft, powdery and wrinkled, like bread dough. Her mouth seemed to be in a perpetual half-smile. The Mona Lisa had nothing on Orchid.

She was sitting in a chair and I had the impression of a body folded in upon itself like an accordion. She was wearing some kind of blue suit with a short jacket and a gray, blue and black scarf artfully tossed around her neck and over a shoulder—the kind of thing that would drive me to distraction. Her feet were clad in black leather slip-ons that looked sturdier and far more sensible than the outfit.

Jazz stood aside to let me enter first, and I walked in and moved to the center of the room, feeling ill-at-ease, wondering once again what my role was.

Logan sat on a stool, deep into Game Boy. He’d turned the sound down low but I could hear little whistles and blurps and tinny voices. He didn’t bother to look up at our arrival.

“Nana, how are you?” Jazz asked, heading toward her with enthusiasm, reaching for her hands.

She seemed to expect this because she held them out. “I’m fine. Help me up.”

He pulled her to her feet, sliding a supportive arm around her back as she struggled with the effort. I saw that the accordion effect had been correct. Once she straightened out she was far leaner than I’d expected. The suit seemed to fit her better, too. The hem of the skirt hit her just below the knees.

“Who’s this?” she asked, peering at me. One hand dug in the folds of her skirt and she pulled out a pair of blue-framed glasses. She put them on and turned her blue eyes into owlish orbs which looked me up and down.

“Jane Kelly,” Jazz said. “She’s the private investigator I told you about.”

“Private investigator?” She sounded mildly alarmed.

“I’m actually more like an apprentice,” I murmured.

“I wanted her to meet you, Nana. You know. Like we talked about? You said you would prefer a woman?”

She frowned, trying to recollect. “Is this about the money?” She gave me a studied examination then. “They all want my money. It was my husband’s but now it’s mine.”

I couldn’t really think of a comment for that one.

“A private eye,” she repeated, sounding skeptical.

“Have a chair,” Jazz said to me. He touched my elbow and gestured to a small sofa. A white crocheted antimacassar lay across its back, which was pretty strange since the sofa was that bright sky blue so popular in the 1950s—satellite blue—and its frame and design were contemporary to the extreme. It was the Victorian age meets mid-twentieth-century space age.

And the damned thing was hard as cement.

I shot another glance over at Logan, envying the fact he was in his own world. The tinny music kind of pissed me off. Its little beeps and whistles started sounding a lot like someone singsonging nanny, nanny, nanny…

In the strained silence that followed, Jazz threw a glance toward Logan, before saying to me. “Maybe we should leave you two alone,” he said.

“Um…no…” I smiled at him through clenched teeth.

“You afraid to be alone with me?” Orchid questioned.

I turned my attention to her. She was smirking. I could see it. “Mrs. Purcell, you’d be better advised—”

“Call me Nana.”

“—to meet with an estate lawyer.”

She folded her hands in front of her, then, with Jazz’s help, settled herself back on her divan. “What’s your name?”

“Jane Kelly.”

“I’d rather talk to you.”

“Well, okay…” She regarded me expectantly, waiting, so I added, “Nana,” though it sounded false on my tongue.

It must have satisfied her, though, because she sent me a big smile—this one full of enjoyment. “Go on, then.” She flapped a hand at Jazz.

“We’ll see you downstairs,” Jazz said. “Come on, Logan.”

“Not yet. I’m almost to the end guy.”

“Put it on pause and let’s go.”

“Uh-uh. I wanna stay here.”

Jazz looked a little nonplussed. He rubbed a spot just above his temple and closed his eyes, as if he were in pain. “Don’t argue…please?”

“Fine!” Logan switched off the device and threw it onto the chair next to me. It bounced on the cushion once and slid to the floor, hitting the hardwood with a crack.

Jazz looked pained. If Logan felt chagrined he hid it behind a sneer as he stomped from the room. Jazz followed him, closing the door softly behind them. I could hear Logan’s angry clomping on the stairway until he reached the first floor and it faded away.

I was left with Nana.

She said, “I shouldn’t feel this way, but Logan’s my favorite.”

Her face shone with love.

Maybe she was crazy.

An hour and a half later I was back at my cottage and desperately in need of a drink. I didn’t care whether it had alcohol in it or not. Water would be fine. I just wanted to pour something down my throat and close my eyes.

I called Dwayne and listened to his drawl on the answering machine. He might be home, he might not. He feels no compulsion to answer his phone while I can never hear a ringing phone without dashing to pick it up. Many times I’ve had to hold myself back. Sometimes you just know it’s a telemarketer.

“Dwayne, come get me,” I said after the beep. “By boat or car, I don’t care. I need to talk to you about the Purcells.”

I was in the process of hanging up when he clicked on. “I got my boat docked in front of the house.”

“Well, bring it on over.”

His compliance was a grunt.

Dwayne’s cabana does have a boathouse and a lift, the latter being rusted and scary, kind of like huge metal teeth floating just below the water’s surface, so it’s not really usable. Consequently, he docks his boat at one of the easements around the lake. It’s not too far from his place, so it doesn’t delay him much, but having it currently parked right out in front shaved off at least twenty minutes.

When he thrummed the thing into my boat slip—one of the benefits of renting from that skinflint Ogilvy—Binks tore down the steps before I could hoist my bag onto my shoulder. She danced and paced on the shore outside, waiting for a leg up, so to speak.

“Well, get in,” Dwayne told her. The whining started full force. Dwayne pointed to the back of the boat, which was wide and flat, upholstered in tuck and roll. Finally Binks jumped aboard, unable to get a better offer, and scratched at Dwayne’s leg. He settled the dog in his lap.

They were happily greeting each other when I stepped into the boat, rocking it gently with my weight. Dwayne loves my dog. He pretends that he just likes her, but he’s a worse sucker than I am. He just won’t cop to it. I sometimes don’t know how to feel about it. I’m both pleased and anxious. Like I’m worried they’ll like each other better than either one of them will like me? This is so pathetic I can scarcely let my mind touch on it.

“So, ya went out there, huh?” Dwayne said, reversing and guiding the boat toward the entrance from West Bay to the main lake. A narrow bridge defines West Bay on the east end. Though it’s high enough to allow boaters to stand as you pass beneath it, I always have the sensation of ducking my head and pulling my arms in.

“Yep.” I was seated in the passenger chair. Binks kept one eye on me, glancing at the floor of the boat and up again. She was measuring the distance, wondering if she should be on my lap instead. I ignored her, a bit miffed at the joy with which she received Dwayne. If she wanted to be on my lap, great, but I wasn’t going to beg for her attention.

“They’re crazy.”

I was tired of this pronouncement. Okay, they had their strange points, but I know a lot of people I would give wide berth to, if I could. Doesn’t mean they’re totally nuts.

But I wanted to talk everything over with Dwayne, roll around the whole interview with “Nana,” which had been well, strange. So, magnanimously, I decided not to pick a fight with him.

“Orchid Purcell asked me to call her Nana, so I did. With difficulty.”

“I just never have gotten that,” Dwayne said as he pushed on the accelerator and sent the boat flying across the main lake. The water was dark green and slightly choppy from a stiff breeze. The sun shone weakly, sinking through a screen of clouds. I hunched down and Binks tucked herself under the dash by Dwayne’s feet. No fool she; Binkster knew she was going to get bounced around. “I’ve got a granny, and a daddy, and a stepmama, and a sister. I don’t need to add other people to the list, and call ’em grandma, or anything else. They’re strangers. Not blood.”

“A stepmama isn’t blood, either,” I pointed out, intrigued. This was more information than I’d ever gotten about Dwayne’s family. I had met his sister, who was a piece of work. Her daughter, Dwayne’s niece, wasn’t much better. Luckily they lived in Seattle. Far enough away from Lake Chinook to keep them there most of the time.

“My stepmama tried that when I was little. Wanted me to call her Mama. Make like she was gonna be my new mom.” Dwayne shot me a knowing sideways look. “Didn’t work out that way.”

“How’d you talk her out of it?”

“She showed up when I was about four. I ignored her till I was six. She’s just one of those kinda women.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that pinches you on the back of the arm in public while she’s smiling and acting like she cares about you. I refused to call her Mama, but my sister just jumped right in. I never called her nothin’ till I was fifteen. Then I called her some things I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ good. She’s still with my daddy.”

“Where are you from again?”

“South. East. Not from here.”

This is a source of curiosity to me. Dwayne acts like he’s from somewhere in the south most of the time; his speech would lead you to believe as much. But he can turn it off so fast I sometimes wonder what’s real and what isn’t.

“What happened to your real mother?”

“Vamoosed.”

I could tell he was shutting down on me. I didn’t want the conversation to end, so I decided to sweeten the pot by throwing in my own dirty laundry. “My dad married his secretary. I have a passel of half brothers and sisters. I lost count at three. And I don’t know their names.”

“And you don’t wanna.”

“Damn straight.”

“So why did you agree to call this woman ‘Nana’?”

“I’m on a case. I’m playing a part.”

“Bullshit. You just didn’t have the cojones to tell her no.”

“She’s old and a bit confused.”

“Crazy,” Dwayne stressed.

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Like that’s something new.”

We lapsed into silence. Dwayne acts like he knows me so well, and yes…okay…he does…but there’s something so annoying about it that sometimes I just want to launch myself at him in full fight mode.

I pondered these simmering feelings as we pulled up to his place. Across Lakewood Bay I could see the lights of Foster’s On The Lake twinkling in strands around the trees. It was just starting to get dark. I didn’t want to be mad at Dwayne, but I wanted…something.

He tied up the boat and sat back down. We swayed in the soft lavender evening light, neither of us climbing out to his dock. With a deep, uncomfortable awakening I realized I wanted to be kissed. By Dwayne? No. Proximity doesn’t make things work. So he was right here. So what? I’m not an idiot…usually. Dwayne was off limits.

I had a raging internal argument with myself on the issue. Recognizing my feelings is not helpful. It makes me feel vulnerable and I just hate that. With an effort I pulled my eyes away from his chest. He was wearing some beat-up blue shirt that looked as if it had been laundered way too many times. The top button had given up the ghost and I could see the smooth, tan muscles of his chest. His jeans were even worse; typical Dwayne. He wore leather sandals that were a little out of character: Dwayne’s strictly a sneakers or boot man. But he had nice feet.

For some reason it was all a seductive combination.

“Are we going to Foster’s?” I asked.

“You hungry?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Jump out and we’ll fire up the truck. Forget Foster’s. I feel like a chili dog.”

I did as he suggested, more because I didn’t care than because I was eager to leave the lake. I climbed into the passenger side of Dwayne’s battered pickup. I hadn’t been inside it in a while but it hadn’t improved much over the last month. There’d been an incident where Dwayne had to pick me up at the hospital. He’d helped me inside but as a luxury ride it left a lot to be desired. I’d made it home and collapsed on my couch. Still, Dwayne had been there for me.

We drove to Lou’s, across the river in Milwaukie. It’s one of those institutions that’s been around since the dawn of time—a prefab building shaped like a trailer. It’s more about basic product than palate, more concerned with delivering up the same foot-long-chili-dog meal than worrying about an ultra-high rating from the health department. Not that they’re slouches. Their focus is just different.

Dwayne really knows how to eat this sort of food. We settled onto one of their indoor painted picnic tables, seated across from each other on long narrow benches. I watched him bite into the foot-long dog, stuffing enough into his mouth to make me marvel. And he can do this without looking like a pig or a slob. I, myself, do not share this talent. I bit into mine and immediately had to wipe excess chili sauce from my mouth.

“So, okay,” Dwayne said, chewing. “Tell me about ’em.”

“Jazz left me alone with Orchid.”

“Nana.”

“Yes, Nana.”

“And?”

“She was really nice. Kinda dotty. Some of the time, anyway. Other times she was really sharp.”

“That’s typical of dementia, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. Although she was pretty clear on current issues. Well…” I made a face. “And then she’d kinda go off track. But she knows the family wants control of the money. She’s bound and determined to keep their hands off it.”

“Because she wants control, or because she doesn’t trust them?”

“Maybe a little of both. I told her she needed an estate attorney.”

“What did she say to that?”

“Oh, at first she acted like she didn’t hear me. She kind of rambled about her husband, where they went on vacation, how they met. She wouldn’t stay on the subject. She lives in this suite of rooms, no phone, no intercom that I could tell. But the door isn’t locked, so it’s not like they’re keeping her prisoner.” I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell Jazz about her. His son, Logan, is her favorite grandchild.”

I thought I was keeping my recitation objective, but Dwayne must have heard something in my voice, because he asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Logan? Nothing.”

“You don’t like him.”

“He’s twelve. What’s to like?”

Dwayne swallowed his last bite, looking like he could eat five more. “Lots of twelve-year-olds are likable.”

“Name one.”

“My brother’s son. Del.”

“You have a brother? How come he didn’t get mentioned when you listed your family?”

“I don’t like him much. He’s a stepbrother. Del’s okay, though.”

“Any other family members you haven’t mentioned?” I said dryly.

“Scores. We talkin’ about me, or the Purcells?”

“Both, maybe.”

“So, what’s wrong with Logan besides his being twelve?”

Dwayne clearly wasn’t going to get sidetracked onto his family. I gave up and went back to the Purcells. “He’s rude. Miserably rude. Jazz seems overwhelmed by him.”

“Doesn’t know how to be a daddy?” Dwayne guessed.

“Logan’s a handful. Jazz seems worn down. Orchid did get kind of chatty about Logan. She talked about Jennifer—Logan’s mom and Jazz’s wife—who died last Christmas in an auto accident. It was a hit-and-run. Logan and Jazz were in the car. Jazz ended up in the hospital for a bit, but Logan was unhurt.”

“You want to feel sorry for the kid but you don’t like him, so it’s hard.”

That about summed it up, all right. “The kid probably has lots of issues.” I was trying to be fair but Dwayne can read me like a book.

“Doesn’t mean you have to like him.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, so back to Nana. Give me more about that meeting.”

I took a bite and closed my eyes, partly because I wanted to put my interview with Orchid in order, partly because the chili was hot and spicy and better than it had any damn right to be. I wanted to hurry through one bite so I could get to the next. I envied the way Dwayne could eat a third of the foot-longer in a bite. I had ordered a regular size dog and now was wishing I hadn’t been such a girl about it. Give me fat and nitrates and lots of ’em.

I started talking. Dwayne, for all his faults, can be a good listener. He waited while I told my story.

In Orchid’s presence, I’d felt a bit like a parent or a jailer. She’d talked on and on about Logan, like a girl with her first crush. Any attempt I made to change the subject was met with resistance. I swear she invented ways to bring him back into the conversation. I couldn’t shake her from talking about him, so in the end I just let her go on for the better part of an hour. I learned that Logan was genius smart, that he was handsome enough to be a model, or maybe an actor, and that he was patient as a saint as he’d taught Orchid how to operate Game Boy—and oh, goodness, she’d gotten so good at it! Those little buttons were so small, but dearest Logan had showed her the menu screen. She just loved that it was called a menu.

At this point she’d actually clapped her hands and chortled. Honestly, all the praise for dearest Logan was gaggy enough to make me want to puke. I kept an interested look on my face by sheer willpower.

Finally, as she ran down, I said to her, “Jazz is worried that no one’s looking out for your best interests.”

“Come on, girl. Tell the truth. They’re all worried about the money.”

“Jazz just wants to make sure you get what you want, not what they want.”

“You make it sound like a war.”

“I don’t know what it is,” I told her. “But I think everyone would agree that you should meet with an estate lawyer.”

“Like Mr. Neusmeyer?” She smoothed her skirt.

I instantly felt my insides contract. Of all the lawyers in the state of Oregon—and believe me, they’re thick on the ground—she had to contact Neusmeyer? I’d had a run-in with the man a few months prior. In a bid to gain information, I’d pretended to be someone else—someone other than an investigator—someone with even less scruples than I possessed myself. Jerome Neusmeyer was known for casting an eye toward younger women, so I’d assumed a fake name and approached him, making clear that I was interested in being an estate beneficiary and that I could be bought. Neusmeyer had jumped on the idea—and jumped on me. Extricating myself from the situation had been tricky. I could still feel the imprint where he’d squeezed my breast. The idea that he was involved with the Purcells left me searching for an exit tout de suite.

I would have run from the room right then and there, but Orchid had turned away to glance out the window and stare up at the sky. The gnarled oak that reached toward the house was losing its leaves. She said, as if in conversation with it, “I don’t remember what happened to her.”

I’d been lost in thought at that point, wondering if Dahlia might not be right and that this dementia-thing was an act. She knew who Neusmeyer was, all right. Now, I keyed into what she was saying. “What happened to who?” I asked.

“I think it was my Percy’s fault. But he was a good man,” she added instantly, as if afraid she might be overheard maligning her late husband. “He didn’t mean to drive her away.”

“Are you talking about your…daughter?” I moved closer to her, craning my neck to look up at the sky, too. What was this? Some kind of confession?

“Sometimes I think she’d still be here if we’d just listened a little more. That’s the way it is with children, don’t you know. You have to listen to what they’re not saying more than what they’re saying.”

“Yes.” I agreed with her. She seemed entirely sane. Thoughtful, even.

Then she suddenly glanced around furtively and whispered, “I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“Nobody does,” I answered automatically. She looked unsure, so I added, “Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, I guess.”

“I want her back.” Orchid’s face tightened, and she suddenly looked as stubborn as a two-year-old. Then her expression cleared. “But I have Logan. And Jazz!” as if she’d just remembered.

“Yes,” I agreed, and that was pretty much the end of our discussion. It definitely left me feeling undecided about her mental state, not exactly the news Jazz would want to hear. Now, I said to Dwayne, “She needs to be looked at by a professional.”

Dwayne, who’d been listening intently to my story, asked, “You think she meant Jazz and Logan’s mother?”

“Lily’s the one that’s gone.”

“She died in the sanitarium?” I nodded and Dwayne added drily, “Doesn’t speak well for how she feels about the rest of her family.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What about them?” Dwayne asked. “You think they’re tryin’ to steal her money?”

I chewed thoughtfully and mentally ran through my impressions of the Purcells.

“Hard to say. I think they pretty much keep her isolated and confined to her room. There’s no phone, and I didn’t get the feeling she has lots of visitors. Maybe she likes it that way. Maybe it’s a protection for her. She could be easy prey for anyone trying to get a chunk of Purcell money. Beyond that, Orchid’s got some deep fear. Or, maybe that comes from starting to lose your mind. She needs a doctor and a lawyer.”

“Your buddy. Neusmeyer.” A smile played around Dwayne’s lips. He knows all about my “relationship” with the estate lawyer. “So, what did you tell Jazz?”

“I haven’t really told him anything yet. He wants to meet tomorrow. He asked me a couple of questions and then we just sort of left it.”

Actually, I’d walked downstairs after the meeting with Orchid and breathed a sigh of relief to see that most of her children had dispersed. The main salon was empty except for Jazz, Logan and Benjamin. Logan was thumbing through a book and perfecting his bored look. Benjamin was standing at the window, looking up at the sky, much as Orchid had. Jazz was lost in thought, his brows drawn together, his expression sort of grim.

When I entered the room Jazz jumped to his feet. His smile nearly distracted me. “What do you think of her?” he asked eagerly. “Isn’t she great?”

I wasn’t sure what I thought of her, in point of fact. She’d seemed kind of spooky, and sometimes cagey, sometimes clear. She’d lamented her husband’s treatment of Lily, but then seemed oddly scared to talk about it.

“I don’t think she’s ready to give up control.”

“But should she? Is it dangerous, do you think?”

I shrugged. “Call an estate lawyer. Or, maybe the family doctor. Maybe they can figure out if she’s compos mentis.”

“What’s that?” Logan asked, eyeing me darkly.

“If Grandmother’s in her right mind,” Benjamin said, his voice sounding dreamy and distracted.

We all looked at him. My thought was: Now, why doesn’t he call her Nana?

“I hate doing that,” Jazz said. “It feels like such a betrayal. I really think she just needs someone with her.”

“She’s got Eileen,” Benjamin said.

Logan made a choking sound. “Her? She’s a thief! She stole those jewels.”

“We don’t know that,” Jazz reminded.

“Yes, we do. We just don’t want to do anything about it, ’cause no one wants to take care of Nana.”

Logan sounded fairly knowledgeable about the situation, especially for a twelve-year-old.

“I take it Eileen’s the caretaker?” I put in.

Benjamin nodded.

“You ready to go?” Jazz asked me. I got the feeling he wanted out of there even worse than I did.

“Sure.”

We headed through the back door to the portico and our vehicles. Jazz drove a silvery BMW convertible. The other two sports cars were gone. The vanilla Caddy still sat parked, looking for all the world that it had been there an eternity and would be there for another one. Bits of moss had taken up residence around the wipers, and the cream body was streaked with dirt.

I glanced at the entrance drive, which curved into the portico and exited out again, angling down another long, leaf-canopied lane, then at Jazz. He was in profile, looking at the house. He could have been posing for a J. Crew print ad. He looked wonderfully clean and beautiful against the decaying property. Briefly, I wondered what he did for a living. Did he even have a job? Or, was he on the dole with Nana’s money? He seemed so…untouched…that it was difficult to believe he’d ever toiled at anything.

A stiff breeze had kicked up and leaves swirled over his convertible BMW and my Volvo wagon. They settled onto his upholstery but Jazz didn’t appear to notice.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said. My job was done, and I was kind of wondering when Jazz planned to break out the checkbook.

I don’t know what I expected to come next, but he suddenly shook my hand, then impulsively hugged me. I could smell his scent, that same citrus cologne, and I felt the first stirrings of sexual interest. The man was just so attractive. He released me before things could become uncomfortable, which was probably a good thing.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problemo,” I said lightly, turning toward my car. My stomach growled, and I realized it was dinnertime. My thoughts ran ahead to food and a debriefing with Dwayne. I was about to ask Jazz where to send the bill when he reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of cash, then ripped off six one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to me.

I was dazzled by the money.

“I’ll call you tomorrow and we can talk about Nana in depth,” he said, climbing into his car. “Oh, and I didn’t say it in front of Logan and Ben—but Eileen’s been let go.”

“The caretaker? You really think she stole?”

“I don’t know. The family decided she had too much influence on Nana.”

I got into my car slowly, carefully tucking the money into a safe little pocket of my wallet before starting the engine. I had no idea whether I was still employed or not. Meeting Jazz the next day held definite possibilities, but there was a niggling doubt associated with his family and their accusations concerning Eileen that followed me all the rest of the evening and through dinner with Dwayne.

Dwayne and I left Lou’s in companionable silence. It wasn’t until we pulled into my drive that we brought up the Purcells again, and it was Dwayne who broached the subject. “So, they want you to be the caretaker.”

“No. That’s not what I said. Where do you get that?” But I knew. Somewhere in the back of my mind the same thought had been circling.

Dwayne’s mouth uttered the thought perched on the tip of my tongue: “Why else were you there? Sounds like Jazz told you Eileen was out for a reason.”

“I’m not a caretaker. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t want to do it, whatever it is. And besides, they’d have to pay me far more than what the job’s worth.”

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“Even better.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I want you to do something for me,” Dwayne said, adroitly jumping to the next item on his mental to-do list. “And I don’t want the Purcells to get in the way.”

“What do you want?”

“You any good at shadowing?”

I gave him a look. He knew darn good and well that I suck at following people. I have no gift for subterfuge. “No.”

“I need someone to follow someone for me. A woman. And this woman spends a lotta time at the spas: massage, mud packs, painting the toes and fingers, facials. I don’t know what all. It’s boggling. I need someone to follow her there and see who she’s meeting.”

“To a spa?” He nodded. There was a hint of amusement around his eyes. He knows that I’m not the spa type. But I could tell he was serious about the assignment. “Okay. What do you want me to do and when?”

“Tomorrow. Follow her into Complete Me. It’s on Hawthorne. Fancy. Order up whatever’s she’s getting. Her next appointment’s at one.”

“How do you know?”

“Her husband’s the client. Thinks his lovely spouse is cheating on him. Thinks Complete Me gives a whole new meaning to hot rock therapy.”

“Who’s paying for my spa experience?”

“The client.” Dwayne smiled. “It’s a freebie, Jane.”

Free and be. When hooked together, two of my favorite words. “And after Complete Me, follow her to her next destination?”

“And wherever else,” Dwayne agreed.

“I can do that.”

“What if Jazz Purcell calls and wants you to take over as Nana’s jailer?”

“Dwayne, it’s not going to happen.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“I mean it.”

His answer was a smile that said he knew better.